Raindrops
by sinceyoufellinlovewithme
Summary: Another "first time Robert told Cora he loved her" story.
1. Chapter 1

AN: So, this story was meant to be a one-shot because I didn't think I had time for a full-fledged, multi-chapter fic right now, but then it got out of control and I think I'm looking at something like 4-6 chapters. Oh well. It's luck I like these two. ;-)

This first chapter is sort of a prologue/frame story for the precanon story I'll be telling...just a bit of fluff that reminds Robert of earlier events. Also, it's precisely how sweetly inept, but concerned, I imagine Robert to be when Cora's sick (you know, when he's not making out with a maid in the next room).

* * *

"Are you certain that's the right bottle, my lord?" Robert heard Miss Baxter ask as she put the last of the linens in the armoire drawer.

"Of course I am." Actually he wasn't certain about any of this, but he wasn't about to admit it to his wife's maid.

Cora had gone to bed earlier that day with a bad cold, and he had been flitting in and out of her room for hours, trying his hand at nursing—a task at which he'd always been most inept. His wife had urged him multiple times to "let Baxter do this, dear," and he suspected the maid had been subtly managing him all day.

"I beg your pardon, my lord, but I am certain as well. That's the day medication you're holding. If her ladyship takes that now, she'll be awake half the night."

"Quite right, quite right," he said quickly, as though he'd known all along. "We don't want that."

Cora coughed. "Dearest, I think we ought to let Baxter handle the medicines."

"Yes, of course," he said, setting the bottle down. "Yes, we'll let Miss Baxter handle that."

"Has she still got a fever, my lord?" Baxter asked.

A fever? How was he supposed to know that? He glanced at the bedside table and saw no thermometer. Rather haphazardly, he held his hand to Cora's forehead, as he had seen her do with the children. This told him nothing.

"Is she warm, sir?" Baxter prompted.

Well, of course she was warm. People were always warm if they weren't dead. The question was, how _much_ warmer did one feel if one had a fever?

"Perhaps…" he began hesitantly.

"Robert, please just let Baxter do this."

"Right, of course," he said, reading his wife's irritation and backing away.

Baxter stepped into his place beside the bed immediately, smoothing Cora's hair and laying her hand against her forehead. "Yes, I thought you'd still be feverish, my lady," she said softly. And then she began to go on, her voice still quiet and soothing, about whether her ladyship would like a bowl of soup for dinner, or perhaps a cup of hot tea for her throat, and was she quite warm enough, with only the one blanket? She didn't want her _too_ warm, either…

Robert crept out of the room, sensing that this was all quite beyond him.

* * *

Immediately after dinner, Robert dressed for bed and returned to Cora's room, thinking he ought to make an early night of it so that she would as well.

"How are you?" he asked, bending to kiss her cheek, but she turned her face away so that he got her hair instead.

"Don't, Robert," she croaked. "You'll catch this. And I feel absolutely rotten." She paused. "Will you turn the lights out? If you're ready for bed yourself, I might as well try to sleep."

He did as she asked, shed his dressing gown, and climbed in next to Cora.

"You can't sleep here! You'll be sick in a few days yourself if you do."

Robert had predicted that response. He ignored her and continued to settle under the covers.

"Go sleep in your dressing room," she continued hoarsely. "I mean it, Robert."

He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her back against his chest. She would sleep easier this way, he knew.

"Robert! If you're going to sleep in here, you certainly shouldn't be so close to me!"

"Oh, come now," he whispered, "surely you don't want me to have Baxter do this part of the nursing as well?"

She giggled, her laughter turning into a cough, and he slowly rubbed up and down her arm, trying to soothe her.

"Well, you _do_ make a pretty terrible nurse," she said when she had caught her breath, "but I'll admit you're not nearly so bad at cuddling."

"Thank you, my dear." He squeezed her waist lightly and kissed the back of her head. She sighed, and he could feel her relaxing in his arms.

"Cora," he said after a moment, "do you know what this reminds—"

"Robert, the first rule of nursing is you don't _talk at_ the patient while she's trying to sleep."

"Right. Sorry."

Another moment passed, and then she said sleepily, "But yes, I'm probably thinking of the same night you are."


	2. Chapter 2

**1889**

"Tell me, Cora, darling…" Violet set her teacup down and cocked her head, gazing steadily at her young daughter-in-law.

"Yes?" Cora knew that look. It had become a familiar one over the last year, and it always meant that a criticism was coming.

"Do all Americans hold their teacups like that?"

Cora met the countess's gaze. "Like what?" There was absolutely nothing different in the position of her own fingers from Violet's.

"You just have a tendency to rather…grip it, as though you think a masked man is going to rush in and snatch it from your hand."

Robert, who was across the library, studying some papers on the desk, made a noise that sounded very much like a cough disguised to cover a snort.

"I'm sure it's a national trait," Cora said evenly. "We're a rather barbaric lot, you know. New York is hardly a place where we can trust our china to be safe."

Another cough from Robert, and this time she was sure he was suppressing laughter. She was aware that she was now gripping her cup even tighter in her anger. She was so _tired_ of his barely blinking while his mother picked at her and chewed on her, but even his usual silence would be better than the knowledge that he thought it was _funny_.

"Speaking of New York, you brought that dress over with you, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. It certainly doesn't look like something you could possibly have ordered here." Violet gave a wheezy laugh. "I can only imagine what an English shopgirl would have thought of it!"

Cora stole a quick glance at Robert, who appeared fully engrossed in his paperwork. As usual, she wanted to kick herself for her unbreakable habit of looking to him for some sort of protection, for a defense that would never come.

"Well, fortunately, I did not order it in an English shop."

"Of course not. You wouldn't have ordered that under my supervision, and you haven't been in any English shops without me, which I daresay the shopkeepers appreciate. I think they find my translation necessary. You must understand—the countryfolk out here simply aren't used to those very unusual American speech patterns."

Cora managed a smile. "I'm sure they'll learn in time."

Violet waved her words away. "Never mind about the shops. This dress…it's only…" She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. "My dear, I understand your desperation, given the lack of…an _event_ in the last year. But I'm not sure such a low neckline is necessary, even for that purpose."

Cora slammed both her cup and saucer down. Her fertility—or lack thereof—was the only subject on which she had not learned to endure her mother-in-law's barbs. "I am sorry you find my presence here this afternoon so objectionable. Please excuse me."

"My dear," she heard Violet call out as she strode from the room, "you mustn't take everything so _personally_."

* * *

Cora retreated to her bedroom, another habit she had been trying to break. And in truth, she had grown more accustomed to Violet in the last year. There was a time when such a conversation would have left her in tears, instead of sitting glumly but calmly on the chaise. The perpetual assault on her looks and her clothes and her speech and her mannerisms still hurt, but the comments had begun to feel more like jabs with a blunt object rather than the stabs of a red-hot knife that she'd felt them to be at the beginning of her marriage.

She could not, though, bear to hear about the lack of an heir. Not when she'd prayed nightly, not when she knew what a desperate failure she would be if she never had a son, not when she knew how earnestly Robert desired it, and certainly not when she'd had, unbeknownst to the family, one or perhaps two miscarriages in the last year. (The first she had been sure of, but she and her maid were not certain if the other incident had been a lost baby or merely a late, miserable, unusually heavy period.)

And for Violet to imply that it was because Robert did not desire her… She _knew_ Robert wanted her. He was in her room several times a week, and he was eager and passionate, a far cry from the man who had clearly viewed intimacy as merely a duty in the beginning. He did not return her love, she knew, but he at least took pleasure in her. She had managed, if nothing else, to attract his desire.

The door opened, and Cora turned. She stiffened when she saw that it was Robert.

"What are you doing here?" she said sharply.

"I thought I should come and see if you were all right."

The shape of the sentence irritated her. _I thought I should._ Not, _I wanted to,_ or _I was concerned,_ or even simply, _Are you all right?_ He had come because he knew he _should_ , because he felt an obligation. Unlike all the time he spent sitting silent as his mother chipped away at her. He clearly felt no duty _then_ , not when it would actually be _useful_.

"I'm not sure what difference it would make to you," she replied.

"Cora, I—"

She shook her head. "Stop, Robert. I know you find me as objectionable as your mother does. I know you find my dresses gaudy and my mannerisms uncouth and my accent strange and my looks oddly dark and my character wholly unsuited for a viscountess. I _know_ all that. You haven't even got to say it. And frankly, I don't really care. You decided to marry me for my money regardless of all that, and I don't think it's my problem if you find it a difficult bargain. So think what you like, and don't bother to apologize. You are under no obligation to like me or to like anything about me."

"Cora…"

"I am not _finished_ ," she snapped. Everything she'd wanted to say for months was suddenly pouring out of her, and there was no stopping it now. "But what you _are_ obligated to do, what you _should_ do, what you _would_ do if you truly had a shred of the honor you're so proud of, is stand up to your mother. Would it cost you so very much to call her off when she's insulted me for the hundredth time in an afternoon? Are you so very frightened of her that you cannot remind her that I am your _wife_ and you will not tolerate this? Why should I have to sit there and fend her off again and again and again? Why am I smiling and thinking of clever responses and trying to hide that I'm wounded, while you're over there with your face buried in your desk?

"You may agree with every word she says, but I don't think that matters a bit. We are _married_. I am your _wife_ , and you've got quite a fortune in thanks for it. Even if you do find me ridiculous, I think the fact that we are married obligates you to at least a _slight_ attempt at defending me."

"Cora, this is all—none of that—that isn't—I—"

"I'm going out for a walk," she snapped, ignoring his stuttering. "I'm clearly not going to get any privacy indoors."

"It's—it's going to rain," he said.

She glanced at the window and saw clouds but no raindrops yet. "Oh, is it? You mean, it's going to rain in England? How shocking!" She narrowed her eyes. "It's _always_ raining in your godforsaken country! So I don't see what difference your forecast makes!"


	3. Chapter 3

It was cool outside, but not cold, and the lower temperature calmed Cora considerably, slowing her anger as she walked steadily away from the house. She did not seek out the gardens—she was not in the mood for perfect rows of early spring flowers—and headed instead for the edges of the estate where she could study Downton from afar.

This was how she'd first seen the house, she thought, from far away as her and her mother's carriage had bounced along the road. How much simpler the task before her had seemed then. She knew that Viscount Downton was eager to marry her, and well he should be: for her fortune, she could easily have had a duke at the least. And from there, it surely would not be difficult to make him fall as in love with her as she was with him: she was pretty and agreeable and kind, and he would be grateful to her for saving his estate. She figured it would be two months at the most.

Of course, she'd been wrong. And that was what she was truly upset over, she admitted as she turned to walk into the woods that was often used for shooting. It wasn't about Violet, or the baby she hadn't managed to have. It was that she knew very well that Robert didn't love her, and that fact couldn't have been clearer in his silences at all of his mother's complaints.

The truth was very much the opposite of what she'd just told her husband. She _did_ mind what he thought of her; she _did_ care that he found her unsuitable and unlovable and perhaps even unlikable. Her mother-in-law's opinions may have bothered her, but it was her husband's that cut her so deeply.

It had started to drizzle, but Cora decided she didn't care. It wasn't a hard rain; she could barely feel it, especially amidst the trees, and at the worst she'd be returning with her dress damp and her hair a frizzy mess. She didn't care about that; in fact, she felt a defiant urge to _let them_ look at her with horror when she came waltzing into the front hall in such a state.

This was an enjoyably spiteful thought, and she walked further into the woods, finding herself rather interested in a part of Downton that she hadn't seen much of before. But it was not very long at all before it began to rain more steadily, and with the raindrops the temperature began to fall, until Cora was colder and damper and decided she really ought to turn back. She had walked quite a ways to get out here, so she knew she had some distance to return, by which point she'd look more like a drowned rat than a lady.

And now that she was cold and wet, appearing thus before the Countess of Grantham seemed much less funny than it had ten minutes ago.

Cora turned around and started back the way she'd come, but she did not have to walk far before she began to think that this was notquite the part of the woods she'd walked through on her way in. Had she turned, and not noticed?

She sighed, irritated with herself. She was not that far in and had no doubt that she could find her way out, but she no longer wanted to delay. Yet she had no choice but to continue wandering in hopes of stumbling on the edge of the trees.

It was, she slowly realized, a vain hope. She was quite lost, and she was merely walking in circles as she grew colder and wetter.

After a while, she searched for a tree with branches low enough and broad enough to offer at least a bit of protection from the raindrops and sat down at its base. They would miss her at dinner, surely, and Robert knew she had gone for a walk (he wouldn't write her off as sulking in her room, would he?), so he would send out a search party to comb over the estate. (She was still on the property, wasn't she?) And she could not have gone so very far from the edge of the forest, so surely they would find her, even after the sun set (and how cold would it be then, after dark)? (They wouldn't give up and wait for morning, would they?)

 _They'll find me,_ she told herself. _They'll find me. I'm the Viscountess Downton, and someone will find me._

But it was a hard thing to convince herself of when she'd never felt less like a viscountess in her life. She felt nothing short of wretchedly miserable.


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you know if Lady Downton called for North this afternoon, before the gong?" Robert asked his valet as Carson dressed him. Cora had managed to avoid him all day, and he was curious when she'd returned from her walk. He'd meant to go and speak with her, but his own nerves had kept him away, and he was steeling himself to say what he could as they walked down to dinner together.

"I couldn't say for certain, my lord, but I don't believe Miss North was out of the servants' hall all afternoon. Did you wish to speak with her? I imagine she's with her ladyship at the moment."

Robert waved his words away. "No, no, nothing like that." He swallowed guiltily. Cora was angrier than he'd thought, if she'd returned from her walk only to shut herself in her room, not even calling for her maid for a bath and a change of clothes.

He had been absolutely floored by her earlier diatribe. It was not only the vehemence of her words that shocked him, but how incredibly she had misread his own feelings. He found nothing unsuitable in Cora or her manners or her looks; on the contrary, he thought her perfect and flawless and stunning and altogether wonderful. He had never found her anything _less_ than perfect, and his feelings had only grown over the year they'd been married.

He had not stood up to his mother on Cora's behalf primarily because it had never occurred to him that she wanted him to or that it was in any way necessary. After a life spent listening to his mother's barbs, he was nearly numb to them himself, and thus her criticisms of Cora barely registered. When he thought about it, it made perfect sense that _of course_ his wife had not built up twenty years' immunity, but he had quite simply never thought about it. And what was more, Cora often rose to the occasion very well. It had never occurred to him that behind her breezy responses, she was genuinely wounded.

"Thank you, Carson," he said with a nod as the valet finished his work. Robert sighed and squared his shoulders. It was time to retrieve his wife.

He was quite puzzled to find her maid lingering outside her bedroom door. "North? What on earth are you doing here? Have you finished dressing Lady Downton?"

North shook her head. "No, my lord. I came at the gong, but her ladyship wasn't here. I thought she was merely late, and so I've been waiting here. Do you not know where she is, my lord?"

His stomach lurched as he realized that the maid's question meant more than she thought. He did not know where Cora was, and it wasn't a matter of not knowing which room she was in. He had absolutely no idea where on the estate she could possibly be, and he was not sure he would like the answer.

"What do you mean, her ladyship wasn't here?" He burst through the door as though he did not think the maid could trust her own eyes. And yet it was quite evident that she was right: Cora was clearly not here, and her room was undisturbed.

"The room was empty when I arrived at the gong," North said hesitantly, and he could hear in her voice that she did not much fancy being a central figure in a situation that displeased him.

Cora was downstairs. She had to be. It was only that she'd successfully kept away from him all day. It was a big house. Or perhaps she'd even taken to a guest bedroom, where she knew he would not disturb her. She'd made that comment about privacy.

He hurried out of her room and began opening random doors, calling out her name as he peered in at empty room after empty room, and then raced downstairs, still calling for her. Where the devil _was_ she?

He arrived in the dining room, hoping for a second that she might have joined his family as they waited for dinner, but of course she hadn't: she hadn't even dressed for the occasion. Surely she was not still outside. Surely not, not after the skies had opened up into a downpour. There would have been no point in staying out in the rain, even to spite him.

And yet his family's promises that they had not laid eyes on her all afternoon either, and the fact that he could not turn up a single servant who had seen the viscountess, left him more and more frantic as he concluded that she was not in the house. Had she perhaps gotten lost? Robert prayed desperately that she had not been out there all this time, not in this weather, not in this rain and this cold.

He sent the butler to fetch his coat and boots and a lantern—his mother protesting all the while that this _was not necessary_ , that "that American" was likely sulking in a hidden corner somewhere and would turn up when she got hungry enough ("And she's always hungry," Violet had laughed to herself)—and then rushed out into the rain to find his wife.


	5. Chapter 5

Robert made his way quite quickly to the wooded area on the edge of the estate—surely this was the only place it made sense for Cora to be lost; you could see the house from anywhere else. The trek only made him more horrified at the situation: even dressed for the weather, he was quite chilled, and Cora had certainly not been dressed for rain.

He had not been long in the woods—he supposed she had simply walked in circles—before the glow of his lantern caught a lump of dark fabric on the ground…

" _Cora!"_ His wife was sitting curled up at the base of a tree, her head buried in her arms and resting on her knees. Her dress and her hat were soaked through, and when she looked up at the sound of her name, he saw that her hair was equally wet. Indeed, she looked as though he had just fished her out of a lake rather than found her in a forest.

"Good God, Cora!" He slid to his knees in the mud in front of her. "How on _earth_ …"

"I was lost," she whispered, her lip trembling.

Well, that much had been obvious. She was also shivering, quite violently, and now that he was closer, he could hear her teeth chattering. Of course she was cold, he thought. _He_ was cold, and he hadn't been out here for hours on end with no protection from the rain.

Robert quickly removed both his outer coat and his jacket and wrapped her in them. "Here, take these for now." She nodded gratefully as she put her arms through his sleeves, a look of exhaustion on her face.

"I'm so cold," she said softly, and he wasn't sure if she was addressing him or merely thinking aloud. Then she wiped her eyes, and he realized she was crying—he had not, earlier, distinguished tears from raindrops.

The resigned note in her voice, as though she had accepted she'd be out here all night, combined with her weeping to make his chest ache sharply. He reached out and embraced her tightly. "It's all right," he said, running his hands quickly up and down her back in an effort to generate some small degree of heat. "We'll get you home and get you warm. You're all right now...here, put your arms around my neck."

"I can walk," she protested quietly as he scooped her up in his arms to carry her back to the house, but he ignored her. He wanted her inside as quickly as possible, and he doubted her pace could match his. And now that he was holding her, she did not seem to mind it, clinging to him and burying her face against his throat.

"I was—I was afraid…" she began. She did not finish her sentence, but she did not need to. He could well imagine how frightened she'd been that no one would think to look for her, that he would not bother to come even if he did know she was missing, that he would not be able to find her if he did go searching.

And he was frightened, too, now—frightened that even his two coats and being clasped close to his body had not stilled her shivering. She'd be lucky if she didn't have pneumonia after all this time. As though in response to his thoughts, Cora sneezed, several times in quick succession, and he quickened his pace.

When they arrived back at the house, the door was thrown open, the butler, who appeared to have seen them approach, staring with a look of unapologetic consternation. Robert was vaguely aware of how strange they must look, with himself half-undressed and Cora in his arms, his coat hanging off of her as though she were a small child dressing up in a parent's clothing, the both of them as wet as though they'd just gone swimming.

"Send for the doctor!" he instructed the man, who quickly nodded as Robert hurried past him and toward the stairs. "And send Miss North to Lady Downton's bedroom, and send one of the housemaids to warm the bed, and to fetch some blankets!"

"Can you stand?" he asked Cora when they arrived in her room.

"Yes, of course," she murmured, and he set her down on her feet.

He removed the coats, and she sucked in her breath at the loss of the layer. "Sorry," he said, "I've got to get your wet clothes off," and she nodded. She did not speak as he undid the hooks on the back of her dress and peeled the wet garment from her body, and her maid arrived as he began to unlace her corset.

"Your ladyship!" North stared at Cora's soaked appearance. "Whatever's _happened_?"

"She's been outside in the rain," Robert said when Cora did not respond—she seemed to be in something of a daze. "For quite some time."

"Even your corset's wet, my lady," North said, taking over his task. "And these petticoats." Robert stepped aside and watched her work as she undressed Cora far more quickly than he could have, dried her hair with a towel, and wrapped her in a warm dressing gown and one of the blankets that had been brought by a flurry of housemaids. "Shall I draw you a hot bath, milady?" North asked, and Cora nodded with a soft "yes, please."

"Here, let's sit down while she gets it ready," Robert said quietly, guiding her to a chair as the maid darted into the washroom.

"I can't seem to get warm," she whispered. She drew her dressing gown around her more tightly as she sat down. She was still trembling, and it alarmed him more than he cared to admit.

"The bath will help," he said, taking another of the blankets and tucking it over her. "It won't be but a few more minutes. Let me see your feet…" He sat down on the stool in front of her chair and pulled her legs onto his lap. Her bare feet were, as he had suspected, blocks of ice, and he began to rub them briskly, trying to bring some warmth back into them.

Cora closed her eyes as he worked. "Why did you come to look for me?" she asked.

"What?" _What kind of question was that?_ "I knew you must be lost, and I didn't want you spending the night in the rain!"

She shook her head. "No, I mean why did _you_ come? Why did you come out yourself? I thought there'd be a group of footmen and hall boys and gardeners looking for me, not you."

"I didn't think of that," he said, honestly. It perhaps would have been a better idea to gather an entire search party rather than to run off alone: they would have been more efficient in a group, and they might have even found her sooner. "I suppose I should have brought some more men with me."

"You wouldn't have had to bring them with you," she said. "You wouldn't have had to go out in the rain at all if you'd sent servants."

It was, he realized, a perfectly logical preposition, and it wouldn't have been nearly as uncomfortable as what he had done. And yet the idea of sitting at home and waiting for news of Cora, in contrast to going out in search of her and carrying her back himself, was an incredibly unappealing one. "I don't think I would have wanted to do that," he told her.

He could feel her flesh warming in his hands, but he continued massaging the soles of her feet. It seemed to calm her, and, with her eyes closed and her head resting against the back of the chair, she looked comfortable for the first time since he'd found her.

"My lord?" He looked up to see North standing in the washroom doorway. He could still hear the water running in the background, but the maid had apparently finished gathering towels and readying the room. "Shall I take over for you?"

"No, no," he said absently, still puzzled by Cora's question…and puzzled that it should puzzle him, when he'd spent a lifetime having servants complete tasks for him. "I'll do this." He rather liked knowing that he was doing something to comfort her, something to take care of her.

And then it occurred to him: a realization that was not a sudden thunderbolt of discovery, but merely a slow recognition of something he knew instinctively had been true for some time.

He loved Cora. Loved her fully, passionately, tenderly, steadily, and irrevocably. It was not something he felt he even had a choice about: loving her was rather like breathing. That was why he was so worried for her health, why he wanted to take care of her, why he had rushed outside during a storm, frantic to find her and bring her home. And that was why her suggestion today that he should stand up for her because their marriage obligated him had so troubled him. _Obligation_ had nothing to do with it.

He was not sure what to say to her, or how to phrase it, and thus he did not speak for a few minutes. "Cora…" he began at last, "Cora, I..."

"Your ladyship?" North called from the washroom. "Your bath is ready, ma'am."

"Coming," Cora called in response, slowly opening her eyes. She pulled her feet back and then stood, silently regarding him for a moment. "Thank you," she said softly before retreating into the washroom.


	6. Chapter 6

After a long soak in steaming water, Cora had been dressed in her warmest nightgown and had climbed into bed, where she was examined by Dr. Edwards, who had just arrived. She was running a slight fever and was told that she had the beginnings of a cold. ("And I'm not surprised," the doctor said. "I don't know what you must have been thinking, Lady Downton, to have stayed outside all afternoon in this weather.") Yet he told her she would need nothing more than a couple days' rest.

Cora could tell she was feverish, and her throat felt rather raw, but she was warm and she was dry and she didn't think she'd ever fail to appreciate either of those sensations ever again. After her ordeal in the woods, it was quite simply heaven to curl up in a feather bed under mountains of blankets, a fire roaring nearby and a tray across her lap with a bowl of hot soup for dinner.

She was, however, at something of a loss over her husband. She was still partly annoyed with Robert over the earlier incident and the argument in her bedroom, but she was not sure how angry she could be after he'd rescued her, nor did she understand why'd he come for her himself in the first place and then been so tender afterwards.

The door opened to reveal the object of her thoughts, worry etched on his face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked solemnly, taking a seat on the bed next to her legs. "I spoke with Edwards."

"He told me I only have a cold," she said hesitantly, troubled at his expression and his tone. Had the doctor told Robert something else?

He nodded. "Yes, I'm sure he gave you the same report. But I don't like to think that you're ill at all."

"I'm all right," she said. "I'm glad to be warm, finally."

"I'm sorry for what happened," he said softly, and she was silent for a moment in surprise. Robert had never seemed the type to apologize easily.

"It wasn't your fault," she said. "You didn't make me run off and get myself lost. And you did tell me it was going to rain."

He chuckled. "I did tell you that, didn't I?"

She nodded shyly. In truth she felt quite foolish over the whole incident.

"Have you finished with your dinner?" he asked after a moment's silence, and she nodded again. He stood, took the tray and set it outside the door, and then returned to his seat on the bed. "I wanted to talk to you about what you said earlier."

"Oh Robert," she began. "I don't want to talk about that now." She was still irritated with him, but she did not feel like fighting tonight, and she felt rather ashamed of how harshly she'd spoken.

He ignored her protest. "I have to tell you…I don't think the way you think I do. I don't find you unsuitable at all. None of that's true—"

"I know," she said softly. She did not truly think Robert agreed with his mother; it was only that she'd been upset earlier, and—

"No, you don't know," he said firmly. "You don't know that I find you flawless and perfect and beautiful and wonderful, and better suited to be my wife than anyone on earth."

She opened her mouth but closed it when she could not find any words. No, she hadn't known that. She'd known he thought her beautiful, but none of the rest of it. Certainly not that last part. And there was a clearness in his eyes that left no room to doubt his sincerity.

"You were quite right to rebuke me for not defending you. Please know that I have not been silent out of agreement with my mother. It was only that I didn't…I didn't understand that it mattered to you…"

"You're used to her," Cora said, suddenly understanding. "But it's different for me."

"Yes, and it's going to be different from now on." He reached for her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, she let him take it. "Because…because what troubled me most was how you told me I should stand up for you because we were married, and I was obligated. And Cora…that isn't why I want to do it. That isn't why I came looking for you myself today, or why I've been worried about you. Obligation doesn't come into it."

"What is it, Robert?" she said when he did not continue.

"I love you," he said. "I love you, Cora."

It was so unexpected that for a moment she did not breathe, and then she felt tears fill her eyes. "Robert, I…do you really?"

"Of course I do. I think I've loved you for months, I just didn't know how to say it. But I do love you, Cora. And I was so frightened for you tonight…"

"But I'm here, and I'm safe," she said, squeezing his hand. "Thanks to you."

He moved so that he was sitting right in front of her, took her face in his hands, and leaned forward to kiss her, but she pulled back. "Don't. I've got a cold, remember?"

"Oh, bother about the cold," he said, kissing her forehead and the end of her nose and then her lips. She let him kiss her twice more, enjoying the soft movement of his lips against hers, but she kept her mouth firmly shut, mindful of the germs. When he pulled away for the third time, she sighed, and he leaned his forehead against hers, both of them closing their eyes. Cora wondered, briefly, if this was a dream and if she'd awake to find herself back in the familiar world where Robert was polite and distant and she was desperately lonely.

But then he said something so surprising she knew her subconscious would never have dreamed it up.

"May I spend the night here tonight? May I sleep next to you?"

Her eyes flew open, and she pulled back. _"What?"_

Robert had turned a deep shade of pink. "That is…I want to be sure you're all right."

No, he didn't. He knew she was all right. He merely wanted to be near her, she realized, and the thought warmed her more than any bath or blankets or soup ever could. "Please," she said softly. "I'd like that very much."

And then a fit of coughing overtook her, causing Robert to fix her with a grave, worried stare. "You should get to sleep right away," he said, and she did not argue. She thought she would have been exhausted enough by the events of the day alone, even if she had not had a fever. "I'll go and change and be back immediately. I won't even call for Carson."

Robert returned in a matter of minutes, extinguished the lights, and slipped into bed next to her. He drew her immediately into his arms, and she sighed, prompting him to kiss her forehead again. _He'll surely catch this,_ she thought guiltily, but she was enjoying being held far too much to push him away. She was also vaguely aware that her fever seemed to be pushing upwards, and she knew she would likely feel much worse in the morning, but she was so very comfortable in his arms that she didn't care. "Good night," she murmured sleepily.

"Good night, love," he replied, and she let the wonderful word echo over and over in her mind as she drifted off.

* * *

1925

"But yes, I'm probably thinking of the same night you are." Cora remembered perfectly the first night she'd spent in Robert's arms—a night of sweet bliss, in spite of her fever, after an afternoon of pure misery. She didn't think she'd ever forget how it had felt after so very many months to hear him tell her he loved her.

She sighed, wishing she could breathe more easily, and she felt Robert press another kiss to her shoulder. "Can I get you anything, darling?"

"No, it's fine…and I thought we agreed nursing wasn't your strong suit?"

He laughed, and she smiled, feeling the vibrations in his chest.

"I think that was the first night I slept in here," he said after a pause.

"Yes, and I'm still a little surprised I let you do it," she joked.

"I think you were too tired to fight about the germs."

"That's not what I meant," she said. "I meant, you really had been such a clod to me earlier that day." He said nothing for a moment, and she began to laugh, realizing he wasn't sure if she were serious.

"Oh, hush and go to sleep," he said good-naturedly. "Before I decide this isn't worth the risk."

She snuggled back against him as he rubbed up and down her arm. "Robert?" she said, beginning to feel the haze of the last medicine she'd been given start to slip over her.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're here." She found his arms just as comforting now as she had thirty-plus years ago.

"Thought you would be," she heard him say as she drifted off to sleep.


End file.
